


Intangibility

by Oroburos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (kinda), (not really a predict-fic), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Black Paladin Allura, Black Paladin Keith, F/F, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Finding Shiro, M/M, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), No Sexual Content, Pidge | Katie Holt / OFC, Post-Season 2, additional minor and original characters, alternate season 3, broganes, warnings posted per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oroburos/pseuds/Oroburos
Summary: Zarkon's defeat was only the beginning.The Paladins of Voltron are still reeling from Shiro's strange disappearance, but with the Galra Empire splintering and trying to tear itself apart, the universe still calls on them for help. The Paladins struggle to try and move forward without their missing piece. It's not easy for any of them, but some of them hurt more from Shiro's absence than others.Meanwhile...Shiro was pretty sure he was dead. Or maybe not. Being dead wasn't supposed to hurt like this, was it? But if he wasn't dead, where was he? And why can he hear his teammate's voices?(AKA the post-s2 theory fic that I was goaded into, answering such fun questions as "what happened to Shiro?", "where are the Holts?" and "what happens when you hit Prince Lotor in the face with a shoe?". Rating may increase later.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has rotating points of view. POV-swap will be marked by headings. This'll be more of a gen/"mission" fic than a romance fic, but the relationships will definitely be significant! Please let me know if I've missed a tag, I'm new to this fandom. Unbeta'd. I could totally use a beta reader.

 

***(Keith)***

Coran’s frantic voice crackled over the comm. “I have Allura and Kolivan, we need to go!”

 

Keith was still hazy and disoriented from that last hit from Zarkon. He automatically pointed Red towards the Castle. But Shiro hadn’t--

 

Black Lion was drifting again. Shiro was silent again. He’d taken a direct hit, he could be--

 

“We need to tow him back to the Castle!” Pidge was beside him in Green, helping him pull Black along. The black lion was twice the size of theirs, and they barely got her into the hangar before the Castle jumped into the wormhole.

 

He wanted to check on Shiro immediately -- he still hadn’t _said_ anything -- but Red was so worn out and beat up and he couldn’t leave her. He got her settled into her bay as quickly as possible and then leapt from his seat and took off at a dead run back towards Black. His boots skidded on the deckplates and she still wasn’t _moving_. With the others right on his heels, Keith scrambled up Black’s access ramp, calling Shiro’s name.

 

But when they reached the cockpit, it was empty. No blood, no scorch marks, no _Shiro._ There was no sign of him at all.

 

He was just … _gone._  

 

\----------  
  
  
**_Two weeks later...._**

 

“Hey, Shiro.”

 

Keith’s voice echoed back at him hollowly. The lights in Black’s cockpit stayed dark and silent, the same as it had been since the battle. He ran his hands over the strange Altean fabric of the pilot’s chair -- almost like plastic, but soft and smooth, and always body-temperature. The feeling beneath his fingertips calmed him, and he traced circles on the arms of the chair to soothe himself.

 

“Coran finally ran out of tests to run,” Keith said. “Pidge didn’t want to stop. Hunk had to pick her up and carry her out of the hanger to get her to eat and sleep for a few hours.” He stared a moment at the exposed Bayard port console next to the chair. The bayard itself wasn't there anymore -- Allura had it, locked away for safekeeping. Its absence made the Lion feel even more painfully empty. “I didn’t want to stop trying, either,” he admitted quietly. “But there’s nothing else we can do at this point…Coran thinks Black has some kind of internal damage, and that's why she hasn't moved. She’s...sleeping, I guess. Dormant. But until she wakes up, we can't get at any of her internal data to try and figure out what happened to you.”

 

Anger rose in him suddenly; he clenched his fists, grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. “Where did you _go,_ Shiro? Allura says you must have been captured somehow during the battle, and that doesn't make any _sense_ but it’s the only theory we have that gives us any hope that you’re still--” He choked his own words off as his voice broke.

 

He didn’t want to think about the other theories they’d had to talk about. He didn’t want to remember the tears streaming down Hunk’s face while he theorized about the amount of energy that was in that final blow against Zarkon’s magic armor, and about what would happen when that energy flowed _back._

 

Keith took a deep breath, tried to will his emotions back _down._ It wasn’t working. “And Black won’t wake up! We’ve tried everything. Allura even tried transferring some of her own energy to the Lion, and nothing’s working!”

 

He slammed a clenched fist against the arm of the chair in frustration, then allowed himself to curl up, press his forehead to his knees and just breathe until he got himself back under control. “Keep it together, Keith,” he mumbled to himself, “you have to keep it together.”

 

It was several deep breaths before he could raise his head again, chest and throat tight with grief, but jaw set in determination.

 

Keith took out his knife -- his _blade_ \-- and held it, staring at his reflection and feeling the smoothness of the metal. It had always been a source of comfort to him, and still was, even after … everything. After finding the Blades of Marmora and discovering his heritage, after Allura’s reaction to that reveal, after Shiro--

 

Keith swallowed down the lump in his throat and held his Blade up like an oath. “We’re not giving up,” he vowed. “I’ll find you again, Shiro, even if it’s the very last thing I ever do.”

 

 

***(Allura)***

 

Her old etiquette tutor Atarah would have scolded her, Allura thought, if she had seen how Allura kept her hands clasped together to hide their shaking. Allura had never much liked the woman, so cold and strict with her constantly-pinched face, but she had been very, _very_ good at her job. Now Allura clung to the old lessons and sent a thank you to Atarah’s memory.

 

She breathed through the grief-wounds, old and new.

 

“Paladins,” she began, and her voice was steady, “I know that we are all upset and confused about Shiro--” and she had to pause and fortify herself, “but we must move forward.” She gazed around at the assembled Paladins, and her heart broke a little more. She had expected loud resistance but every eye was downcast and quiet. They looked so lost. Even Coran, standing beside her, was subdued.

 

 _They are so young_ , she thought, not for the first time. They were only students before all of this, she recalled. Cadets. She remembered when Shiro had explained --

 

 _Stop. Breathe._ She felt as though a thousand knives had shattered in her chest.

 

“There is still work to be done,” she pressed onward, and then added more quietly, “He would not thank us for neglecting our duty.”

 

“Wait, duty?” Hunk lifted his head, confused. “I thought we were done? We beat Zarkon -- I’m pretty sure we _killed_ him -- so Voltron isn’t needed anymore, right?”

 

“How I wish that were true,” Allura let the depth of her regret shine through her voice just for a moment, then turned to her Second. “Coran?”

 

“Yes, Princess.” Coran stepped forward and brought the displays up with sharp movements. Allura didn’t need to watch the images and vids that came up. She had already seen them. Instead she stared through them and noted carefully the reactions of her Paladins.

 

“According to my sources,” Coran said, “and information from our allies in both the Blades of Marmora and elsewhere, Zarkon’s defeat has sent the empire into chaos.”  He flicked through images of varying quality, showing many different planets and scenes.  “Countless systems are in open revolt, and many have already managed to overthrow their Galra overlords. Unfortunately,” Coran sobered as he brought up the grainy vid of the planet Valmir, “many of the rebellions were not so successful.”

 

The rebellion on Valmir had been brutally stamped out. The vid had no audio, but the images of fire and desperate suffering told the tale plainly enough.

 

Allura watched her paladins. Pidge appeared the most stoic, but Allura knew the youngest Paladin’s mind was processing rapidly. Hunk wore his emotions openly, the horror and dismay etched on his face. Keith looked angry -- the cold simmering type of rage that could, hopefully, be harnessed and directed. He also looked determined, an encouraging sign. Lance was somewhere between Hunk and Keith, openly horrified but also focused.

 

Coran continued, sweeping aside the images of war and death to replace with dossiers. Images and information related to many different Galra leaders came up on the screen. Allura noted Pidge bringing her own console online and downloading the data. “Meanwhile,” Coran said, “in the core of the empire, there seems to be a power vacuum. Any and every military officer or government official with a bit of power and a few soldiers to order around is trying to declare themselves the new emperor. Some have even broken from the empire completely, declaring themselves warlords and carving out little kingdoms for themselves.”

 

“So instead of one huge empire,” Keith observed quietly, “now it’s like there’s a bunch of little ones all over the place...”

 

Lance sighed, resigned. “I guess it was pretty naive to think that just because we defeated Zarkon, a universe-spanning, ten thousand year old empire would just … give up.” He raised his hands and gestured sarcastically, “ ‘Oh no! Looks like you guys won! Here’s all your planets back! We’ll just go back on home!’ -- wherever that is…” he frowned.  

 

“On the whole,” Allura said, “a destabilized empire means it is easier for the rebellions to gain a foothold. But at the same time …”  She took a breath. “The iron grip of the Galra is clenching ever tighter. We have received innumerable calls for aid just in the past few days. The universe still needs Voltron.”

 

“But, there’s no way we can cover an entire universe! There’s only fi--” Hunk winced, corrected himself with a sad apologetic look “-- four of us. And we can’t even form Voltron right now.”

 

“The Lions are quite powerful by themselves,” Allura said.  “And make no mistake, we dealt a hard blow to Zarkon’s forces. Their strength is much less now.” She met the eyes of each paladin in turn. “We cannot remain idle in our worry. We can spread our forces and help where we are able.”

 

“As long as we don't spread ourselves too thin,” Keith murmured, staring at the ground.

 

Pidge looked thoughtful. “It doesn't make sense for us to just run around reacting to everything. We need to be focused. We need to be able to use our resources efficiently.”

 

“We have allies now,” Lance pointed out, “We could let them take up some of the work. Not every problem needs a Lion.”  

 

“The right tool for the right job,” Hunk agreed.

 

 _‘Shiro would be so proud of them,’_ Allura thought to herself.

 

“That's still plenty for Voltron to do,” Keith said irritated. “Lots of targets to hit. Some of them pretty big.”

 

“Oh right,” Hunk snapped his fingers and looked to Allura. “What about combat? Chain of command? How do we-- without Shiro …”

 

A heavy, silent weight settled over the group.  

 

 _Breathe through the grief, through the yawning hollow in your heart._ Allura gathered her strength, again. “Keith will be taking over field command. He will lead you in battle.”

 

Lance, predictably, was the first and loudest to react. “What?! Keith?!” He gestured widely. “You really expect us to take orders from-- he doesn't even follow orders himself! I'm not even sure he knows what ‘orders’ are!”

 

“Hey!” Keith protested.

 

“I can't even tell you how many times he's completely ignored orders and ran off on his own, because it's a lot! How do we know he won't run off when we need him?”

 

“Can we, maybe, not do this right now?” Hunk tried to step in and stop the argument before it got going. Lance gave his friend a quick glance and a frown.

 

“I wouldn't do that!” Keith had straightened from his slumped position and was glaring at Lance. “You really think I'd abandon teammates on the field?”

 

“Guys…” Hunk repeated tiredly, but Allura could see the red and blue paladins’ hackles were raised. She felt a headache coming on.

 

“You're just jealous because you want to lead!” Keith was saying, fists clenched in anger. “Everything just has to be all about _you_ all the time doesn't it?!”

 

“Guys!” Hunk tried again, but neither of them were listening.

 

“Wh- I don't- I never said that!” Lance sputtered. “But YOU,” he jabbed a long finger accusingly, “sure aren't the right guy for the job!”

 

“Somebody has to step up and we know _you_ won’t!”

 

“I'm just- why can't Allura lead us?”

 

 _Don't bring me into this_ , Allura silently pleaded. She closed her eyes. _How did Shiro manage them?_

 

“Allura doesn't pilot a lion.”

 

“She pilots the castle ship just fine!”

 

“That's different.”

 

“Why?”

 

 **_“Enough!”_ ** Allura cut the both of them off. “Lance, your concern and support has been noted, but Keith is correct. My vantage point from the Castle is much different. While I can and _will_ continue to guide you, in a large-scale battle you must have a tighter focus. Unfortunately, I cannot--” She hesitated. She felt the seed of an idea -- She pushed it aside for the moment. _‘Later. Now, focus.’_ “ -- I cannot provide both Overwatch _and_ tactical decisions at the same time. The reaction time between the Lions and the castle are too great. A field command is needed, and that will be Keith.”

 

“But-”

 

“Keith will lead,” Allura reiterated firmly, and then her voice went soft, “because that is what Shiro wanted.”

 

Lance looked unhappy, but slumped in his chair and went silent. Keith, on the other hand, was staring openly at Allura in disbelief, and some other emotion she could not name.

 

“He told you?” Keith almost whispered.

 

“Yes,” she said, “Shiro made me aware of his wishes as soon as he had made the decision.” The memories of that conversation -- and its context, its setting, threatened to spill into her mind but she pushed them aside. She strode forward and took Keith shoulders, found an encouraging smile somewhere.  “You are the Red Paladin, the sword arm of Voltron. I know you will do well.”

 

Keith looked briefly terrified and overwhelmed, and then seemed to gather his courage. _Good_. “I'll do my best,” he said.  

 

“Now that that’s settled,” Pidge said distractedly, “I have a plan.”  

 

Pidge pushed her information from her console to the central display, which lit up a star map. “I've identified two nearby systems we can help immediately and which shouldn't pose a huge combat risk. I figured that while we’re at reduced strength, and until we get more information about our targets, we should probably try to keep our heads down. Do some humanitarian missions and alliance building.”

 

Allura peered at the information and nodded. “A good idea . What are these systems?”

 

Pidge pulled the map’s focus to the closer of the two highlighted systems.

 

“This one is, um, Tarsus IV? According to the information in Coran’s files, the inhabitants there are working on building a communications hub for the rebellions and freed systems, something separate from the Galra network. They've asked for a mediator and protector, and it looks like there's multiple groups involved. Sounds pretty political, but I think it would be in our best interest to make sure this hub gets up and running smoothly.”

 

“Ah, yes!” Coran exclaimed thoughtfully. “The Tarsians are mostly collaborating with the Olkari on this project. Both are relatively peaceful societies, but have never been in contact before.” He poked through the information, Altean script flowing quickly beneath his fingertips. “Hm, it seems there is also a small contingent of Balmerans involved in the project. In that case, I’d say Hunk would make an excellent ambassador for Team Voltron, wouldn’t you say, Princess?”

 

Allura smiled at Hunk’s surprised expression. “I agree completely. Hunk is by far the most level-headed among us. His experience with the Balmerans and technical expertise certainly make him well-suited for this mission.” Though, perhaps they could come up with a more formal designation than ‘Team Voltron’, Allura thought privately.

 

Hunk rubbed the back of his head and looked self-conscious. “Well… okay, if you guys think I can do it. I’ve never really done anything like that before.”

 

“You’ll be more than fine,” Allura said encouragingly. “And if you’ve any trouble, Coran and I will be just a comm away.”

 

Lance frowned. “Are we sending Hunk by himself, then? Is that safe?”

 

“The Tarsus system is really close-by, astrogationally speaking,”  Pidge pointed out. “If anything did happen, the Castle could get there in less than an hour.”

 

“The Castle will remain in our current, secure location, unless we are needed. I will be continuing to work with the Black Lion.” Allura sighed. “She does appear to be self-repairing, if slowly.”

 

“Okay.” Keith pointed at the other highlighted system on the star map. “So what’s the mission here?”

 

“That's…” Pidge checked her notes, “X-23LK, it's listed in the star charts as uninhabited, but we received a signal from there, from a group claiming to be a resistance movement in the Empire itself.”

 

“Like the Blades?” Keith asked.

 

“Right, but not Galran. These guys claim to date back to the earliest days of the Empire. Whether that's true or not, the castle ship’s systems recognized some of their encryption codes.” Pidge brought up a display on the central screen, comparing two lines of encrypted text. “These codes are the same as those used ten thousand years ago, by civilizations that aren't on our current star maps. The places they used to be?” And Pidge spun the map, briefly lighting up a patch of space located deep in Galra territory.

 

Allura blinked, the implications were… “You believe these worlds  were conquered or destroyed by the Galra--”

 

“And then the people went underground.” Pidge nodded. “It makes sense, right? What do you when you've been conquered by a crazy purple authoritarian government bent on universal domination? You make an underground resistance.”

 

“Okay,” Keith cautioned, “but it could just as easily be a trap. They could have pulled these codes out of an archive somewhere, everyone knows the castle’s ancient.”

 

Pidge pushed up her glasses and gave Keith a look. “If it was a trap, I think they would've made it easier for us to decode the message. It was buried in a dozen layers of encryption. Why go to the trouble?”

 

“To make us curious? Because they know you like a challenge?”

 

Allura was busy reading through the information on the system. It was far outside Galra space, in an inconvenient region away from any trade routes. It didn't even have have a proper name. Quite suspicious… but the possibility of allies within the empire, ones that were free of Galra ties, was tempting.  Allura had been grateful for the assistance of the Blades of Marmora, but the group was far too secretive -- and far too Galran -- for her to fully trust them.

 

Additionally, once the battle had concluded, the Blades that had been posted to the castle-ship immediately left, vanishing back into the shadows from whence they came without any solid promise of continued alliance. She knew that they were still in contact with Coran, somehow, but she could not consider them reliable. Even more damning, they had outright refused to give Keith any aid in understanding his newly-discovered heritage. They had allowed him to keep his marked blade, but had completely dismissed any questions he tried to ask them.

 

 _No one_ treated Allura’s paladins that way.

 

Keith and Pidge were still arguing, caught in one of their “what if” spirals. They could go at it for hours if allowed. Allura spun through the information and raised her voice to re-direct them. “I believe this group is worth investigating. Any information we can gain on the internal workings of the Empire would be quite valuable. We will, of course, need to be cautious.” A bit of the decoded message caught her eye. She peered at it dubiously. “It seems they are specifically requesting the presence of … is this correct? ‘Spymaster Coran?!’”

 

Coran gave a small chuckle and twirled the end of his moustache. “It appears I have unintentionally developed something of a reputation. Quite a misunderstanding, I assure you, but it has been very useful in the gathering of information and alliances so far!”

 

Allura narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, then shook her head. That was a story she would demand later. “Well, I’m not sending you alone. You get into far too much trouble when unsupervised.” She ignored Coran’s sputtering protests and considered her remaining paladins. _Hm._ Perhaps there was an additional opportunity here. “Keith and Lance will accompany you,” she announced.

 

Both paladins visibly winced. “Um, is that a good idea?” Hunk asked tentatively.

 

“You two must learn to get along,” Allura said firmly, pinning the two of them with her gaze. “I will not tolerate any more arguments on my bridge. Perhaps some quality time on a wild planet will allow you two to move past this childish _feud_. You are Paladins of Voltron, and you are better than this!”

 

The two young Paladins looked properly scolded. They may grumble, Allura knew, but they knew better than to argue with her when she used her Command voice.

 

Shiro had helped her perfect that. He had helped her to transform the way she’d been taught to project her voice for use in council meetings and royal functions, to harden it for use on a battlefield. She missed him so fiercely.

 

 _Focus, Allura._ She tapped at the screen in front of her. “Pidge. I notice there is one more item on this plan of yours. What task have you assigned yourself?”

 

Pidge steeped her hands and got a steely, determined look in her eyes. “I'm going after Shiro.”

 

A collective gasp of sudden tension went throughout the room.

 

“I'm going back to the scene of our battle,” Pidge said. “Coran’s information says Zarkon’s ship is still there.”

 

“Yeah, so is most of a _fleet_ ,” Lance argued. “You’d be flying right back into a warzone.”

 

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “I thought of that, don’t worry. I've been doing some work on Green. I can put her in a cloaked state and then power down to essentials. If the Galra see anything at all, I'll look like nothing but space junk, debris from the battle. While I'm cloaked I can scan the area, see if I can pick up any trace of lingering energy from the Black lion, Zarkon’s Ro-Beast, or Shiro himself. I’m hoping for a ping on his armor, but I’ve also got his biometrics from the last time he was in a cryo-pod. I can also hack into the Galra systems remotely and search their records. Besides any information on Shiro, I can also gather intel about the state of the Empire. Find us some targets.”

 

“And you’re sure they won’t catch you doing that?” Keith pressed.

 

Pidge smiled proudly. “Oh ye of little faith. They haven’t caught me yet, and they won’t now. See, I wrote this new rotating algorithm that piggybacks--”

 

“Okay, okay,” Keith held his hands up, “we believe you. Just...be careful.”   

 

Allura was tense with trepidation. “This is dangerous, Pidge. Are you sure it’s worth the risks?”

 

Pidge stared down at the floor for several heartbeats. “Any risk is worth it,” she said quietly, “if it means bringing Shiro back.”

 

Allura could not bring herself to argue.

 

Keith, however, could. “It’s not worth it if we end up losing you, too,” he said firmly. “No unnecessary risks, Pidge. Recon only, and the second you have any trouble you scramble out of there, okay?”

 

The room went silent and five pairs of eyes stared at Keith. “...What?”

 

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Was that an order?”

 

Keith crossed his arms and looked away, almost petulantly. “I’m supposed to be taking over for Shiro, aren’t I? This is a tactical decision.”  

 

Lance looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant but wisely, for once, held his tongue. Pidge tossed off a somewhat mocking Earth-style salute and said, “Sure. Whatever you say.”

 

Allura took control of the meeting back before things could devolve again. “Alright. It seems we all have our directions. Are there any other concerns?”

 

“Just one,” Keith said. “What happens if we end up facing something that requires Voltron’s full force. Like one of Haggar’s monster things. What do we do then?”

 

Allura was reminded of an Earth proverb Shiro had shared with her. Something about a bridge? She shook her head. “Then we must hope that the strength of four Lions and the Castle will be enough, or seek an alternative solution. Until the Black Lion awakens, there is little else we can do.”

 

“If she ever does wake up,” Lance whispered sadly.

 

“She will,” Allura insisted. “She _must._ It is only a matter of time. Go and gather your supplies, all of you. You should make ready to leave in a few hours.”

 

 

Allura sighed as she watched the paladins filter out. She noted Lance’s slumped and defeated shoulders, Keith wound tight as a spring and fidgeting. “We’re going to have to do something about those two, Coran. We can’t afford division. Not now.”

 

Coran tweaked his mustache thoughtfully. “Not to worry princess, I have just the thing.”

 

“Do you?” she asked nervously.

 

“Of course,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Leave it all to me!”

 

“I know they are struggling with Shiro’s absence…Keith especially. ”

 

“All of us are, Princess. I know you feel it quite keenly as well.”

 

For a moment Allura wondered. Did Coran know …?

 

“You will be attempting to commune with the Black Lion again tonight?” Coran asked, changing the subject. “You should rest, if so.”

 

She shook off her suspicions. “Yes. Her quintessence levels remain critically low. The more we can help her recover, the faster we can pull her out of her dormant state. The Lions must be complete.”

 

“And what of a pilot?” Coran asked tentatively.

 

Her heart beat a staccato, _Shiro Shiro Shiro._ “We’ll worry about that later. Please, inform me when you’re ready to leave.” 

 

She exited the bridge, took the back-way to her quarters and swept into her bedroom. The lights came up automatically, soft and dim as she had set them before. Her shoulders fell as she exhaled, raised a hand to clutch at the pocket-crystal wherein she had hidden the Black Bayard. Shiro had barely gotten to wield it. She would keep it safe for him.

 

The mice skittered around her feet, chittering with worry. She could spare no energy for them at the moment, her heart too heavy as she allowed herself to collapse into her bed. One of the little ones climbed up, nuzzled at her cheek and crooned sadly. “Do you miss him, too?” she wondered aloud.

 

A memory hit her sudden and unbidden; Shiro, smiling, with one of the mice hanging off the end of his prosthetic finger. One of his rare untroubled moments. _“They aren't afraid of it,”_ she remembered him saying in wonder.

 

 _“Neither should you be,”_ she remembered saying back.

 

Allura squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face into her pillows, sobbed and felt the cracks within her grow.

 

She could still smell him in the bedsheets.  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN THIS CHAPTER: Hunk and Lance have a serious bro talk, Keith continues to have Too Many Emotions, and Shiro wakes up! Kind of? Oh god, it hurts, where is he? 
> 
> Content Warning for brief, implied suicidal ideation. He'll be okay. Hunk is a good bro.

 

 

***(Lance)***

 

“Lance, wait up!” 

 

Lance’s shoulders crawled up towards his ears. He did  _ not _ want to talk to anyone. He wanted to go to his room, be pissed at Keith, and sulk. But that was Hunk’s voice, so he slowed his pace and let his friend catch up. 

 

Hunk came up beside him, his expressive face frowned with concern. “Hey man, are you okay?” 

 

He exhaled a frustrated breath that made his bangs fly up -- they were edging past “fall over your forehead in a sexy way” into “fall into your eyes in an annoying way” territory, he’d have to track down whatever Alteans used for scissors and handle that soon. “I’m  _ fine, _ ” he insisted. “Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

 

“Well that was kind of a huge blow-up back there,” Hunk answered, unphased. “Look, I know you don’t get along with Keith all the time, but he’s really not so bad a guy once you get to know him.” 

 

“Easy for you to say.” Lance kicked petulantly at a bulkhead as they passed. “Sure, he’s cool  _ most  _ of the time, but then he pulls  _ this  _ crap. Did you not hear what he said to me?” 

 

“I did, and that was really shitty of him,” Hunk agreed, and Lance’s shoulders relaxed. “But you were kinda shitty to him, too.” Aaaand the tension came right back. Hunk stared at him consideringly. “He’s really torn up about… about, you know. Shiro, and everything. So, I don’t think he’s really thinking straight right now?”  

 

And, great, now Lance felt guilty. But Hunk was right...Keith had been a  _ mess _ since they found Black empty. He’d been trying to hide it, sure, but you didn't spend months living and working with someone every day and not learn any of their tells. And everybody knew how Keith had taken to hiding out in Black’s cockpit. Lance didn't blame him. If Lance had left Earth with anything to remember his family by he'd be walking around with it in his pockets all the time. As it was, he'd gotten Coran to -- discreetly -- make up a holo photograph from his memories, which he kept safe in Blue’s main control console. But nobody needed to know that. 

 

He could almost hear his mother in his ear, saying ‘ _ Be the bigger man, Lance. He's a grieving orphan with underdeveloped social skills.’ _  He sighed reluctantly. “Yeah, okay. Keith is all  _ emotionally compromised  _ and everything. I get it.” He scoffed as they got to the elevator. “Aaaand  _ we’re _ still supposed to be okay with following him into the jaws of death.” 

 

“Yyyyup,” Hunk drew out his answer, sounding just as  _ done _ as Lance was. “Not that anybody listens to us about stuff like that.” 

 

Lance huffed his agreement, and they rode the elevator down to the resident levels in companionable silence. 

 

Hunk was still watching him sidelong as they exited and continued down the corridor. Lance was going to ask him what the deal was when, “<So, what’s really the matter?>” Hunk asked, in spanish. 

 

And Lance had to stop right there in the middle of the hall until the wave of homesickness passed. He hadn’t heard his native language in  _ so long. _ He stared at Hunk, who was staring back expectantly, then transferred his stare to the floor.

 

“<It’s nothing,>” he answered in the same way. 

 

Hunk nudged his shoulder with his own.  “<Come on, man. You’ve been weird lately. I’m worried about you.>”  

 

Lance hugged himself. He knew what Hunk was doing. And he was… 

 

Back at the Garrison, Lance had always called home at least once a week. There hadn’t been many other Spanish-speakers there, despite it supposedly being an international program -- thanks, prejudiced administration -- so phone calls with his family were basically the only time he spoke it. And in the early days of a semester when he was missing everyone, or during finals week, or whenever Iverson was being a bigger dick than usual, he’d call more often. Because hearing his mom’s voice or arguing with his dad about baseball or chattering with his sister Sophia for hours about absolutely nothing made him feel better. 

 

And Hunk, because he was awesome, and because they roomed together for two years, picked up on that. So one time when Lance had had an  _ epically  _ terrible day and he was kind of, maybe, hiding in the bathroom trying not to have a panic attack, Hunk had just came over and sat with him and started talking with him in spanish. He’d taken it in school or something and his accent was  _ terrible,  _ but it helped! And then whenever Lance was feeling upset or stressed out, that’s what Hunk would do. Sit and talk. It became a  _ thing.  _ So now Lance had this stupid pavlovian response to hearing his best friend’s shitty accent, like his brain would go all  _ “Uh oh, time for a Serious Conversation about feelings!”  _

 

If it were anyone else, Lance would’ve made a joke and blown them off, but he knew Hunk wouldn’t buy it. So Lance just looked up into the middle distance, feeling small and so, so tired.  “<It’s just… I don’t know why I’m here,>” he admitted.  

 

Hunk looked around, confused.  “<Uh, here? In the hall?>”  

 

“<No!>” Lance gestured impatiently. “<Here in the castle. On the … On the  _ team _ .>” 

 

“<Lance what are you talking about?>” 

 

“<What do I bring to the table here?>” He asked bitterly. “<Nothing. I'm not smart like you or Pidge, I'm not as good at fighting or flying as Keith is, and I’m,>” he raised his hands for air-quotes,  _ “‘Definitely not the guy to step up,’ _ <I'm just dead weight. If...if you guys had another pilot for Blue, you wouldn't need me at all....>” 

 

Hunk was looking distressed.  _ “Lance-!” _

 

“<Hey, I hear what people say to me okay? I see how they look at me. I’m not  _ blind. _ >” He hunched his shoulders, wrapped his arms around himself again. He wanted to disappear. “<I should've been the one to get kidnapped or, or  _ vaporized _ or whatever, not Shiro. It should have been me. No one would miss me if I was gone. You'd all probably be better off if-->” 

 

“Don't say that!!” Hunk cried, tears in his eyes as he swept Lance up in a tight hug. “Of  _ course _ we'd miss you! How can you even-” 

 

“Ah, ribs, ow,” Lance coughed.  

 

“Sorry, sorry…” Hunk set Lance down and took his shoulders. “Okay. < _ First of all _ , we would  _ absolutely _ miss you,  _ all of us _ would miss you, and don’t you even  _ think _ about thinking otherwise!>” Lance tried to look away at that but Hunk shook him lightly. “No, <look at me. You're our friend, you're my  _ best friend  _ and you being gone would be the  _ worst thing ever _ .>” 

 

Hunk seemed to take a second to collect himself. He kept his hands on Lance’s shoulders. Like an anchor in a storm. “<Second of all...Lance of  _ course  _ you're important to the team! You're the blue paladin! You were the  _ first _ paladin! Remember? Out of all of us in that cave, Blue chose  _ you _ . If it wasn't for you, we’d still be stuck back on earth, Shiro would probably be a garrison lab rat, Coran and Allura would still be frozen in cryopods and Zarkon would still be alive! Every person we've helped out here in space, every planet that we've freed, it's all because of you! We wouldn't be here without  _ you. _ >”

 

Lance broke his gaze. “<Blue could have chosen someone else if I hadn't been there. Probably Keith. He felt her energy first...>”

 

“<Yeah, and then he just sat around in his creepy shack making conspiracy boards until the rest of us showed up! Blue responded to  _ you _ . She  _ chose _ you.>” 

 

“<She deserves a better pilot,>” Lance’s voice was cracking. “<Someone better than just the team idiot.>” 

 

“Hey! <Don't talk about yourself like that!>” Hunk pulled him into a hug again and just...held onto him. “<I’m so sorry if I  _ ever _ made you feel that way. You’re a  _ great  _ pilot and you’re  _ not  _ an idiot! Sure, you’re not an engineer, but you get  _ people.  _ You make us laugh, and that’s important! That keeps us sane! Lance, having you here with me has been the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind to this crazy space stuff.>”

 

“<You'd have Pidge,>”  Lance argued weakly. Hunk was good at hugging. He was like a teddy bear made out of warm blankets and … sadness absorbing stuff. The metaphor got away from him. “<You'd be alright.>” 

 

“<Pidge is my tech buddy, and I love her, but it's not the same. Pidge wouldn't listen to me freaking out about random stuff in the middle of the night like you do,  _ all the time. _ Pidge doesn't make me laugh and forget how scared I am like you do. Lance, if you were gone I'd be a complete  _ wreck. _ >” 

 

He leaned his forehead onto Hunk’s big shoulder. “<You're strong, buddy, you'd be fine…>” 

 

Hunk shook his head insistently.“<No, I'd be so sad I wouldn't be able to get out of bed. Heck, I wouldn't even even be able to eat!>” 

 

Lance laughed weakly. “<Hey now, let's not get too serious here.>”

 

“<I'm completely serious,>” Hunk said. He pulled back and gave Lance a sincere, steadying look. “<Even if you can't believe that you're important to the team - which is crazy because you  _ are _ \- please, at least trust that you're important to  _ me _ .> Okay?” 

 

Lance exhaled, shaking. “Yeah… yeah okay,” and choked on on a sob. He rubbed impatiently at his eyes. “Shit, sorry-” 

 

“It’s fine, man. You're my bro. We're having a moment. A bro moment.” Hunk paused and smiled to himself. “Hah, a  _ broment _ . Lance, we're having a broment!” 

 

Lance groaned and smashed his face into Hunk shoulder again, hiding the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was so, so grateful for his friend. Where would he even be without Hunk? Nowhere good, he was sure. “<Thanks, buddy,>” he said quietly, after a while. 

 

“<No problem.>” Hunk patted him on the back. “Hey, come talk to me when you're feeling this way alright? I want you to be okay.” 

 

Lance made an uncertain noise, rubbed at his eye again. “Yeah, I-...I'll...try to remember that.” Geez, did he really just come that close to breaking down in the middle of the hallway? Embarrassing. “I'm gonna... go clear my head a minute. Meet you in the hangar before we all leave?” 

 

Hunk gave him a look, but patted his shoulder and let him go. “Sure thing. I'm not really sure how to pack, I've never been an ambassador before. I don't even have a suit.” 

 

“Aw you'll do fine, Hunk. You're the best ever.” Lance smiled. 

  
  
  


 

***(Keith)***

 

Keith sat in Black’s empty cockpit again, sideways in the pilot’s chair with his knees hugged to his chest. Normally, the Lions automatically adjusted the chairs to fit whoever was sitting in them. But since Black was still powered-down, this one was still set to Shiro’s proportions. 

 

Keith felt very small, sitting there. 

 

“Why me?” he whined into his folded arms. “Why does it have to be me?” He took a heavy breath and raised his head, but he couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. He just stared into space, mind reeling. “I’m not ready, Shiro. I’m not ready to be alone again, I just got you  _ back! _ ” 

 

He hugged himself tighter. “And you want me to be in charge?” he laughed bitterly. “Yeah right…” 

 

His face grew hot, remembering how Pidge hadn’t taken him seriously, and how quickly he’d gotten into a fight with Lance. He knew Shiro would have lectured him about that, if he were here. Not yelled...Shiro never yelled. Not at Keith. But his ‘disappointed’ face was just as bad,  _ worse _ than a chewing-out in a lot of ways. 

 

“I know I shouldn’t have gotten into it with Lance,” he said guiltily. “He just… gets under my skin. I mean, saying that I’d leave teammates behind? I wouldn’t do that! I would  _ never _ abandon a teammate! I  _ wouldn’t! _ ”

 

_ Dammit _ , there went his stupid feelings again. He fisted his hands tightly,  _ tightly _ until his knuckles went white, inhaled and held it until his lungs screamed and his arms and shoulders shook with the tension. Then he counted to three and exhaled, released the tension all at once and pressed a hand and the side of his forehead to the back of the chair, letting the feeling of the smooth soft fabric calm his nerves.

 

His chest hurt. He welcomed the simple, understandable physical pain. He would have given anything in the universe for Shiro to appear out of thin air just to yell at him.

 

The anger drained out of him, leaving him feeling cold. Empty. He a hole in him with raw edges. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I know...I know you said you believed in me and you’re the only person in my life who ever has...a-and I want to make you proud, but I just don’t know if I can do this…” 

 

He rubbed his face angrily.  _ ‘Come on Keith, keep it together.’  _

 

Suddenly there was a loud CLANG that made Keith nearly jump out of his skin and reach for his knife. 

 

“Keith? Keith, are you in there? Hello?” 

 

He relaxed. It was only Coran, knocking on Black’s...hull? Skin? Sentient robot spaceships made the vocabulary confusing. 

 

He took a second to calm his pulse and get his face under control, then climbed down the access ramp and stuck his head out the hatch. “Coran? What is it? Are we leaving already?” 

 

Coran was standing at the foot of the ramp, wearing some kind of coverall and a mechanic’s hat. Keith wasn’t sure where he’d found the outfit or why he was wearing it -- he never wore anything protective when working on the Lions or around the Castle -- but had given up trying to guess why Coran did anything a long time ago. “Not leaving quite yet,” Coran said, tipping his cap. “I was just making a few pre-flight checks on the Lions, except that Blue seems to be feeling rather testy today. Could you go and fetch Lance for me? Tell him I could use a hand with the old girl?”   

 

“Isn’t he answering his comm?” Keith frowned, not really looking forward to seeing Lance so soon after their fight. 

 

Coran hummed and shook his head. “No, but I believe he’s down at the range. He usually turns his comms off while he’s practicing.” 

 

Keith blinked. Lance?  _ Practicing?  _ Wasn't he allergic to that? “We have a range? Like a firing range?” 

 

“Well, of course we do! The castle is a fortress and used to house part of an army, you know!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


It turned out, they really did have a range. Or maybe the elevator he’d taken had transported him to an alternate dimension. Because Keith couldn't remember ever seeing Lance look so … capable.   

 

He was dressed in the black bodysuit that made up the underlayer of their paladin uniforms. His bayard was in rifle form, set against his shoulder in the ready position. And he was still, focused in a way that Keith had only vaguely  _ felt  _ from him when they were connected through Voltron. 

 

And Keith watched, speechlessly, as holographic target after holographic target popped up and was immediately obliterated. 

 

It didn’t matter if the target was close or far, stationary or moving, single or in a cluster -- the range looked to be set to a randomized program, Keith couldn’t see a pattern -- Lance took out every one of them. He just never seemed to  _ miss.   _

 

Keith was stunned. He hadn’t known Lance was this good. It had definitely never come up during Paladin training, though now that Keith thought about it,  _ that _ usually focused on team-building; defending each-other, hand-to-hand and back-to-back sorts of activities. The actual combat training was focused on piloting their lions. And in all the ground fights they’d been in, Keith was too busy paying attention to his own targets to see what any of the others were doing. Sure, Lance bragged about his ‘sharpshooting’ from time to time but Keith had always figured it for just air. 

 

He’d had no idea. He barely recognized this Lance. 

 

The computer played a tone to signal the end of the training program and Lance lowered his rifle. Keith found his voice. “Wow--” 

 

Lance shrieked and jumped in the air and brought his rifle up defensively. 

 

Oh.  _ There _ was the Lance he knew. Keith’s mouth flattened. “Sorry.” 

 

“Jeez! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Lance grimaced, then exhaled and lowered his rifle again. He gave Keith a suspicious frown. “Were you spying on me?” 

 

“Not intentionally…” Keith could almost swear he heard Shiro in his ear saying  _ ‘be nice, Keith’ _ . “You’re um, you’re a really good shot.” 

 

Lance stared at him a minute. Some unfamiliar emotion flickered across his face. Disbelief? But before Keith could identify it, Lance ducked his head and pulled that familiar self-congratulating smirk on. He watched Lance straighten and settle his rifle back across his shoulder like he was  _ posing _ . “Yeah, well,” Lance drawled, “I  _ am _ the team sharpshooter.”  

 

Keith barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.  _ ‘I’m not some girl you’re flirting with,’ _ he thought, annoyed,  _ ‘you don’t have to impress me.’  _

 

Lance set his gun back in the ready position as the next training program started up. “You shouldn’t be surprised. It was the only thing I blew you away in back at the Garrison.” Lance was turned away now, focused on his targets, but Keith could still hear the smirk in his voice. “Not that you’d remember,” he barely heard Lance mutter. “And not that marksmanship got weighted for anything in the pilot track…” 

 

The targets were still dropping as fast as they came up, but now it looked like most of the shots hit the upper parts of the targets … like Lance was going for headshots. Like he was  _ showing off. _

 

Keith blew out a frustrated breath. “Whatever. Listen, Coran sent me to come find you. He needs your help with Blue.” 

 

“What’s wrong with Blue?” Lance asked, frowning and pausing the training program, leaving a cluster of targets frozen mid-shatter. 

 

“Nothing, she’s just being …‘testy’? Coran said he was trying to do pre-mission checks?” 

 

Lance rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well of course she’s being  _ testy.  _ I always do my own pre-flights with her. Coran knows that. He’s just being a busybody.” He turned back to his targets. “Tell him I’ll be up in a few dozen tics okay? I’m just gonna finish up this level.”   

 

“...Sure.” Keith turned back towards the elevator, feeling confused. Lance was always making him feel either confused or pissed off. It was exhausting. 

  
  
  
  


 

***(Shiro)***

 

Death wasn't turning out how Shiro had expected. It was very dark, for starters, and it hurt. You weren't supposed to hurt after you died. But it wasn't a normal hurt. Not the familiar agony of an abused and injured body, not the ache of a heavy workout, and certainly not the good sort of pain that came from the kinds of activities he used to get up to in his almost-forgotten Garrison years. Before Kerberos. Another lifetime ago.

 

The fuzziness, though, that was familiar. But unlike a hangover or a stab wound, where he could point to the place in his body where the pain was, this hurt was just  _ everywhere.  _ All over. He couldn't even feel his body through it, everything was just … static. Painful, fuzzy static.

 

He thought he might be floating, but he couldn't tell. He couldn't see. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. 

 

_ “Hey, Shiro.”  _

 

_ What? _ “Keith?” 

 

Words hurt. They echoed, bouncing off the static. Shiro winced, or thought he did. He couldn't feel his face. Everything just  _ hurt _ too much.

 

_ “Where did you go, Shiro!?” _

 

Keith was in pain. Shiro tried to push past his own, imagined his hand reaching out towards the voice. “Keith…”

 

_ “Oh, Shiro…!”  _

 

That was another familiar voice. “Allura?” She was hurting too. Shiro  _ reached.  _ He could almost see her, like a distant light in the darkness. 

 

_ “It should have been me…”  _

 

And that was Lance. What was going on? Shiro tried crawling towards the light, but he couldn’t feel his body, and the darkness pressed down heavy around him. 

 

_ “I’m going to find you, Shiro.”  _

 

_ “I want to make you proud, but I don’t know if I can do this…” _

 

_ “I miss you…” _

 

“Allura…” he could almost see her, white hair cascading down dark shoulders, glowing softly in the dim light of a starfield. A memory came to him; soft smiles in a darkened room, quiet words exchanged in secret places, her two strong arms around him as he shook himself to pieces. His one good hand tracing her markings down the curve of her back.  

 

He  _ reached _ for her, but her image blew away like mist in the wind. _ “...’lura….” _

 

He was so, so tired. But he had to....he had...

 

Shiro felt a tugging at the back of his mind.  _ Stay awake.  _ Something familiar. Vibrating … purring? 

 

_ Black?  _

 

He felt a familiar presence wrap itself around him.  _ Warm. Safe.  _ The pain eased. He found an image in the dark. Soft midnight fur, a steady rumbling, a heartbeat. 

 

_ Safe. Stay. Rest.  _

 

Shiro breathed. 

  
  
  
  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers to questions that nobody asked!: 
> 
> "Is this established, secret relationship shallura?" Yes, yes it is. They got together at some nebulous point in the past and have been together long enough to start leaning on each-other emotionally, and _nobody knows_. Except the mice, of course. And they're not telling. 
> 
> "is this Keith autistic?" ...a little bit? He touch-stims and has trouble with handling his emotions and expressing himself, but I don't really want to give him the microscope treatment, you know? I wouldn't want people to read that he's an upset ball of angry because he's autistic. He's an upset ball of angry because he's _Keith_. It's just something I'm keeping in mind while writing him. 
> 
> "does Lance have depression?" He's going through some shit. Depression comes in many different forms and anyone can have it at any time in their lives, like a cold. He doesn't have the kind of capital-D depression that is clinical and comes from a serotonin imbalance and the like (though I've absolutely no problems with those kinds of headcanons), but he is, currently, depressed. He's got a good support system though, he'll be alright.
> 
> any questions/concerns/yelling? I'm on tumblr! my voltron sideblog is @getinthelionallura and my main is @storyhoard


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN THIS CHAPTER: Hunk gets to work and finds a familiar face, Coran pulls a d*ck move, and Pidge ... also finds a familiar face. And someone new? (oh no she's hot) 
> 
> Content Warning for (self-indulgent) pop culture references and WILDLY inaccurate depictions of hacking and digital espionage.

 

***(Allura)***

 

The metal shell of the black lion was cool against her forehead. That was wrong. The lions should be warm. They should breathe and pulse and hum with energy like the living things they were. When Allura reached out with her senses, with hands made of life-force, of quintessence, she should be able to feel them. She could feel the others, but Black was so, so _faint_ . What Haggar and her druids had done was abhorrent. It was anathema. Stealing the life-force of entire _worlds..._ and for what? For personal glory? For one mad being’s thirst for power? For _what?_  

 

Allura reached out once more, feeding her energy into the Lion. Hoping, straining for more than the barest ghostly wisp of response. Black _had_ to recover. Without the Black Lion there was no Voltron. Just as importantly, the lions were _hers._ They were the last pieces of Altea that remained. They may not have been the most … traditional of subjects, but they were still _hers._ It was her duty to see them well.

 

And Shiro would need his lion when they recovered him.

 

She exhaled, _“Takashi…”_

 

 

 

_The Castle was in orbit around a lush, ringed world and the view from the observatory was breathtaking._

 

_He entered quietly, as he always did. Just loud enough to make his presence known. On his own time he always seemed to make himself as small and forgettable as possible. Allura did not know if that was simply the way he was or if it was something learned, cruelly taught by Galra stun batons._

 

_He cleared his throat, politely. “Good evening, Princess.”_

 

_She turned and quirked her mouth at him. He was still in armor, fresh from a successful mission.  “Good evening, Takashi,” she answered, just as formally._

 

_She watched him tense, and then truly relax. The burdens easing off his shoulders like a heavy pack. He smiled at her, softly, beautiful as a star. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”_

 

_And she grinned at him, let down her own burdens and strode lightly towards him, nearly bouncing on her toes. “And I’ve asked you not to call me ‘Princess’ when we’re alone...”_

 

 

She had to believe he was still alive. She had to believe that she would _know_ if he were dead. That she would have felt it.   

 

She breathed deeply, brought back her energies, let her senses feel nothing but the metal beneath her skin. Still cool. Still silent. Still alone.

 

“I swear,” she whispered and prayed it would somehow reach him, “if they have harmed you, I will make them pay in blood.”

  
  


 

***(Hunk)***

 

“So, you're _growing_ the mainframe?” Hunk asked.

 

“Yes,” his Tarsian guide, Seth, answered via the translation device on his head. “With the assistance of the Olkari, we have been able to fully integrate our crystalline megaprocessors with more common communications technology used throughout the empire. Our mainframes are easily transportable, self-repairing, and inherently more secure than the traditional blocks of metal.”

 

Hunk rubbed his chin. “That makes sense. It's probably really difficult to hack a chunk of rock.” Pidge could still do it, Hunk thought privately. Or anyone with the ability to mentally control technology like the Olkari. They shouldn't rely too heavily on the hub’s unique physical properties for security, but Hunk was still working on how to point that out diplomatically.

 

There was time, he was sure. He had only been on-planet a few hours and Seth was still giving him the initial tour. There was probably small-talk and other diplomatic stuff to get through first, right? Hunk sighed internally, listening with half an ear while Seth went on about his people’s history of materials development. He would ordinarily be more interested -- how did they manage so much without using metal? -- but he was nervous. He _really_ didn’t want to screw this mission up, and he wished he hadn’t been sent here by himself. It would have been nice to at least have someone to talk to about how distracting it was that the Tarsians looked almost _exactly_ like mastiffs. He kept catching his mind wandering towards how _fluffy_ they were and how much he wanted to pet them.

 

Tarsus IV was beautiful, and peaceful, with clusters of low vegetation and flowering plants everywhere. The Tarsians were naturalists and tended to build with the flow of the landscape, which meant their pathways were pretty winding and it took a while to get anywhere. Their homes and buildings were built with natural materials and smooth lines, embedded with crystals that (so Seth told him) absorbed sunlight during the day and shone brightly at night. The tarsians _really_ loved their crystals; they used them in lighting, for decoration, as jewelry, and as the very backbone of their technology. They had even types of crystals that were power sources like the Balmera, though much, _much_ smaller.

 

The factory-like facility the Tarsians were building the communications core in was built into the side of a mountain, in a natural cave system they had expanded for their purposes. Hunk was worried he’d feel claustrophobic being underground again, but the tunnels were wide and brightly-lit with more crystals and some kind of bioluminescent plant that flashed a million colors whenever anyone walked past. It felt like walking through a rainbow -- or a dance club, Hunk supposed. Lance would have thought it was cool.  

 

There were terminals scattered around made entirely from multi-colored crystalline pillars, that looked like communication devices. Hunk wondered if they were the basis of the intergalactic network the tarsians were building. They seemed to work wirelessly, which made him wonder about the range on individual crystal towers and how _big_ one would have to be to carry signals between planets, much less galaxies and stars.

 

And he was honestly not sure how they were able to _program_ crystal-based computers in the first place, with no apparent input other than putting their hand (paw?) to the polished surface. Maybe the tarsians were partially telepathic? Or it had something to do with quintessence? Bio-tech was a little outside his experience. He wished Pidge were here. Or Coran. Or _somebody_ who he could bounce ideas off of without worrying about how stupid and unprofessional he might sound.

 

As they passed into the deeper sections of the facility, the walls grew darker and the hallways narrower. There were fewer workers, and Hunk started seeing tarsians and olkari walking around armed with weapons. Guards? It made him feel uneasy. The deeper into the mountain they went, the more obvious security measures Hunk spotted.

  


They entered a cavern so huge Hunk couldn’t see the ceiling in the dimness. There were crystal pillars growing in vats and solid hunks of rock being cut and polished. Here and there were also more traditional, metal terminals half-engulfed in crystal structures like the rock was trying to eat them. And stationed at those terminals -- Hunk did a double-take. The people working at the metal terminals weren’t tarsians or olkari. In fact, they were a bunch of different species, only a few of which Hunk recognized. And all of them seemed to be _tethered_ to the terminals they worked at. A few of them actually had _guards_ standing near them. 

 

“Um, so, what’s going on over there?” he asked as politely as he could manage.  

 

Seth made a low and ominous-sounding _boof._ “ _Contractors_.”

 

As Seth explained, Hunk grew uneasy. Apparently the galra were the _only civilization_ in the known universe with the knowledge and experience to build an intergalactic communications network. And they guarded that knowledge, only letting select scientists and engineers access to the technology. So if the tarsians wanted someone with experience to help them build this network, their sources for experts were … less than ideal.

 

The Tarsians’ “contractor” network engineers were defectors, ex-sympathizers, members of races favored by the Empire for their usefulness. Though they had come to the side of the rebellion of their own free will (so Seth claimed), they were distrusted at best and near-prisoners at worst. The most-trusted ones were merely handcuffed to their terminals for the workday. The least-trusted were under constant, armed guard.

 

“Isn’t that a little, well, dangerous?” Hunk asked delicately. “I mean, if you don’t trust these guys enough to let them walk around without a guard, how can you trust them to help you build the network?”

 

Seth made a sad-sounding noise and patted his arm. “Sacrifices for knowledge. In this way, they can be useful, though they have yet to earn redemption. Worry not, Paladin. They will surely make no trouble while _you_ are here.”

 

Hunk made a weak smile, but felt his heart sink. _This_ was why the tarsians had wanted a paladin, he realized. Not for technical knowledge, or a diplomatic alliance, or third-party neutrality in negotiations. No, they wanted a member of the team who took out Zarkon, a visual reminder -- not to keep hope and morale up (though, he hoped that was at least _some_ of the reason), but to make sure the “contractors” behaved themselves. They wanted him for _intimidation._

 

Hunk was not okay with that. He didn’t want to intimidate anybody. Sure, he had the weight to throw around -- physically and metaphorically -- and he wasn’t afraid to use that to his advantage when it was necessary. But there was a _huge_ difference between between using his strength to protect people, and using it to _scare_ people -- especially prisoners, galra or otherwise -- into cooperating.

 

Hunk didn’t want to be that guy. He _knew_ there was a better way. He quietly vowed not to let himself be used as a battering ram.

 

He had the feeling, though, as they passed tense guards and quiet clusters of workers, that he would have his work cut out for him.

  


He didn’t relax until they passed through a set of air-locked doorways into what looked like a laboratory space. There, through transparent panels into sterile rooms, and in less-sterile grow-labs that opened into bare rock, he finally started to see Balmerans. He felt his smile grow less brittle. Seeing these people who had been enslaved and stuck in the dark for so long, now working alongside other species in the galaxy towards something _good,_ something that would build _connections_ and not isolation, made Hunk feel really proud to be a part of Voltron. _This_ was what he wanted to do; help people. Heal the hurt that had been inflicted on far too many people for far too long.

 

“Hunk!”

 

His head snapped up at the familiar voice and he smiled so wide his felt his face would crack open. “Shay!”

 

She peeled away from a group of Balmerans in a grow-lab and ran at him, and he opened his arms and caught her and spun her around in a hug. And he laughed aloud, forgetting for a moment that ambassadors were supposed to be dignified. He was _so happy_ to see her. Suddenly, this mission didn’t seem quite so heavy.  

 

 

***(Coran)***

 

It had been a relatively short trip to X-23LK, a lovely little terrestrial planet orbiting a small star in an out-of-the-way sector of the universe. Coran rode with Lance in the Blue lion, while Keith and Red kept pace beside them.

 

“Comin’ up on Planet Wolverine,” Lance announced as he guided Blue into a low orbit.

 

“Planet what?” Keith said over the comm.

 

“X twenty-three? Wolverine?” Lance grinned at Keith’s image on the comm display a moment. “She’s a comic book character. Really angry, has knife-claws that come out of her hands. I think you’d like her, Keith.” Keith’s only answer to that was an exasperated noise.

 

“What precisely is a ‘comic book’?” Coran asked Lance curiously.

 

“Oh, they’re basically Earth legends,” Lance answered cheerfully. The Lion shook as they passed into the planet’s atmosphere. “I can tell you all about them later if you want.”

 

Coran stroked his chin, intrigued. _Earth legends? Fascinating!_ That sounded like excellent information to add to his personal project of learning to understand the new Paladins’ home culture. “Do you know many of these ‘comic books’, Lance?”

 

The blue paladin laughed lightly. “Yeah, tons! One of my favorites is --”

 

“Maybe we can talk about that later and focus on your piloting _now,_ ” Keith cut in.

 

Lance rolled his eyes and muttered, “Man, Leader Keith is no fun at all,” too quietly for the comms to pick up.

  


The coordinates they’d received led to a large clearing smack in the middle of a heavily forested area on the planet's southern continent. Neither of the Lions’ sensors could pick up any signs of a base, and they'd received no communication from whoever had (presumably) sent the message beyond the initial request for contact. _Perhaps they’re underground?_ Coran wondered. That was always a possibility. It was also possible that the message-senders had already left the planet or been killed. Or, indeed, that it was some sort of trap.

 

Keith certainly made his opinion on the matter clear as they all stood in the slightly overgrown clearing together. He looked around, gained a battle-ready guardedness to his stance and activated his bayard. “I don't like this,” he said nervously.

 

“There's nothing here but trees,” Lance returned. He did not activate his bayard, and in fact gave Keith a bit of a look about it -- one that Coran had learned to interpret as Lance thinking someone was taking a situation more seriously than was warranted.

 

Coran hummed thoughtfully. He stroked his moustache. He considered his options and mentally reviewed his primary and secondary objectives. Objective A required more information; a quick scout of the land should suffice as a starting point. Objective B, as events stood, could be cleared to proceed. Excellent.

 

Coran snapped his fingers and unholstered the hand-held hover scooter he’d packed for the occasion. Ingenious little device -- it made traversing wild and rough landscape like the one they found themselves in easy as a breeze. “I'm going to have a look around,” he announced. “Get the lay of the land. Perhaps our contacts are further afield?”

 

“Is that safe?” Keith cautioned. His bayard remained active, though lowered, and he kept half an eye on the tree break as if he expected a full galra battalion to break through at any moment.

 

“Not to worry, Keith,” Coran reassured him. “The Royal Altean Ranger Corps didn't call me ‘Coran the Shadow’ back in my prime for nothing!”

 

Lance regarded him with an unfairly disbelieving look, which Keith unknowingly echoed (just as unfairly) and added, “When exactly was that, again?”

 

Coran sputtered at the implication. He may be getting up in his years and it might have been a few centuries -- relatively, give or take ten millennia -- since his last heavy field mission, but he was still perfectly capable! He tilted his chin and tutted. “It's perfectly fine! Ought to take me no more than a few hours. Ah,” he turned his face away to hide his sly grin, “you two should pitch camp while I'm gone. You should find everything you need in the large crate in Blue’s hold. It is rather heavy though, so remember! Team lift!”

 

Coran headed off into the woods before the boys could argue, and his keen hearing picked up the two grumbling and jostling each-other. He grinned to himself; his plan was a clever, time-honored classic. Altean parents had used it to settle feuding siblings for generations, though the humans would hardly have the context to foresee such a plot. Perhaps that was unfair, but those two _did_ need to learn to get along, for the good of the team. A small push was worth the fuss they would make over it.

 

Right on time, Coran caught the echo of dual shouts of outrage. He could just imagine their faces; shocked as the trapped crate sprung the get-along cuffs on their wrists. Flushed with embarrassment when they realized how soundly they had been tricked! Ah, Coran missed the thrill of a well-executed practical prank.

 

He would give them a few hours. Surely, navigating the tasks of setting up camp while stuck together, three useable hands between them, would teach them a thing or two about teamwork. In the meanwhile, Coran had a mystery to pursue. He whistled an old Altean ditty to himself as his scooter puttered between the trees. He recalled a string of mountains to the west, perhaps there was a cavern system …

  
  


 

***(Pidge)***

 

Pidge was frustrated.

 

She shouldn't have been, she should have been desperate and anxious while she searched the scanner readouts for any sign of Shiro’s energy, should have been angry at the galra who were still swarming around Zarkon’s damaged fortress of a battleship like ants on a dropped piece of candy, but there was only so long a human could maintain a high emotional state. There was only so many times she could beat herself against these firewalls before before fatigue set in.

 

She had slipped into the system and found a good cloud of debris to hide in without any problems. The galra were still distracted with repairs, which worked in her favor. With so many drones active, it was nothing to slip her own digital claws into one and use it to backdoor into their network -- the drone and communications network, anyway. She hadn't managed to get into the main systems yet, but her break-in script was working on it.

 

Green was powered down in camouflage mode, a sleepy whisper in the back of her mind. The only source of light in the cockpit was Pidge’s armor and her portable terminal. Between the darkness, the tedium and Green’s sleep state, Pidge was getting drowsy. She rubbed her eyes and sipped at a packet of sugary space juice to try and keep herself awake. She really missed caffeine.

 

She flipped through her screens, absently humming some pop tune Lance had been singing the other day and gotten stuck in her head. The readout display for the scanner she had searching for traces of Shiro’s energy was a constant, depressing line of “No Match Found”. Her break-in script was still working on getting through the main systems firewalls. She was hoping, once she got in, to access visual camera logs from their battle with Zarkon’s robot armor. Neither the Castle or any of the Lions had a clear record of that crucial point between Shiro’s last comm transmission and the aftermath of Voltron’s killing strike. That tiny three minute window where the Lions were separated and drifting was the point where Shiro disappeared, Pidge was _certain_ of it. If only she had records! A drone or an external camera _must_ have picked up something!

 

It would be so much faster to get through these firewalls if she could get on the ship itself and access a physical terminal. But even in her desperation, Pidge knew that was a bad plan. It would only get her captured, or worse. And then they’d be down _two_ pilots.

 

They shouldn't have had to be in this position to begin with, Pidge thought with a guilty frown. If only she’d _noticed_ something, realized _sooner_ that Shiro was missing, maybe she could have done something. If she hadn't towed Black in without her pilot, if she hadn't falsely told Allura they were all aboard, if she hadn't been _wrong…_

 

She pushed her glasses up and scrubbed her face vigorously. _Self-blame spirals are inefficient, Pidge!_ No matter how it had happened, she was _going_ to find Shiro and bring him home and that was that. She would _not_ give up.

 

She wasn't going to lose _any_ more family members. She _refused!_  

 

Refocusing, she pulled up her feed from the Galra comms network. On one half of the display was the raw feed, converted from audio into text using systems she had repurposed from the castle. On the second half, her translation and collation programs were working to wrangle all that raw data into something useable. The system was still imperfect -- no Galra-to-English dictionaries meant she had to scrub from the castle’s translation programs, which were far from accurate a lot of the time. But it was still useful, when paired with her pattern recognition program, for picking out frequent key phrases. Currently there was a lot of noise in the fleet regarding ship repairs, for obvious reasons, and _many_ repeated instances of the term “Lotor”. Pidge wasn't sure yet if that was a name or some kind of military title that her translation program hadn't encountered before. The galra had a _lot_ of military titles.

 

She was staring at the screen, vision going slightly fuzzy from fatigue, when something in the raw feed jumped out at her. She blinked, peered at the screen more closely. “Is that…”

 

She ran her finger under an odd line of code and … yes, she was sure of it. There was the telltale sign of a _worm_ in the Galra systems. Apparently Pidge was not the only one listening in on their transmissions.

 

That was _very_ interesting.

 

Pidge partitioned off a sandbox in her systems and pulled that section of code in to have a closer look. Something was definitely in the galra comms network. Where did _that_ come from? Did one of the Galra open a bad email attachment or something? The galra weren’t exactly great at network security -- ten thousand years of unchallenged rule makes for lazy guards, she figured -- but she had never seen evidence of anyone else breaking into their systems before. The Marmora had operated almost entirely on dead drops and burst transmissions. _This_ was an active listening program. _Someone_ out there was gathering data on what the galra -- this fleet, at least -- were up to, and Pidge needed to find out who it was.

 

Tracing the origin of the worm would take some work. There was so much data to go through, _mountains_ of it. An entire fleet’s worth of mundane digital traffic. Pidge got halfway through coding the bones of a tracking program, but an alarm from her console snapped her attention.

 

She inhaled sharply. She'd been careful, the galra _couldn't_ have spotted her could they? She pushed her portable aside and jumped into the pilot seat, bringing up her security measures.

 

And froze. It wasn't a proximity alarm, it was one of her own _firewall_ alarms. Someone was hacking her. Someone was hacking _her!_ Sure, it was only the first few security layers, which were basically dummies she had for exactly this type of early warning system, but still! How dare they! The galra were _notoriously_ terrible at cyber security, when had they even _found_ a meathead soldier good enough to get through even the first levels of _her_ security?!

 

She shored up her defenses and started powering Green back up. They could _not_ get into Green’s systems, she had to get out of there!

 

There was a _ping_ from her portable, but she ignored it. Her programs would gather data without her input, she could look at it later, she had to retreat and regroup--

 

_Ping! Ping! Pong._

 

“What the heck?” Pidge looked around the back of her chair, back at her discarded portable. The screen with the sandbox partition was active and flashing.

 

_Ping! Ping! Pong._

 

No, it wasn't just flashing, there was an image on the screen. Some kind of animal, twitching in a two frame animation. _What the--?_ She didn't have time for this. Green, just starting to wake up, rumbled curiously in her mind. “Easy, girl,” Pidge said. “We’ve got to--”

 

And then her processing caught up and she spun back around to grab her portable and stare at it in shock because, was she seeing things? No, that was most definitely a _duflax._ The image of Altean creature was stylized, like it was out of a children’s book, but it was unmistakeable. When something tries to take your eyes out with holographic barbs you tend to remember what they look like.

 

What the _heck_ kind of hacker would use an extinct Altean bird as their calling card??

 

Pidge realized, it wasn’t the _galra_ trying to hack her systems. It was the listening-worm. Whoever they were, they must have noticed her digital meddling just as Pidge had noticed theirs. And they must have tracked her backdoor ( _how?? So fast? She’d been so careful!_ ), and broke her dummy firewalls. And now--

 

_Ping! Ping! Pong._

 

The portable pinged at her again and she finally noticed the text below the image, embedded in junk code:  

 

+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+  
|W|h|o| |a|r|e| |y|o|u|?|   
+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+

 

And then, below that, was a blinking text-input indicator.

 

Pidge stared. She set her portable down very, very carefully. She took a deep, shaking breath. “Okay, this is _weird_.” She felt Green rumble in agreement.

 

She checked her defenses again to find that the cyber-attacks seemed to have stopped. The Galra showed no sign of having spotted her. It looked like this _duflax_ hacker had just wanted her attention. Why?

 

Well...there was one way to find out. She braced herself. “Okay… time to do something stupid.”

 

She picked up her terminal and typed in:

 

+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+  
|w|h|o| |w|a|n|t|s| |t|o| |k|n|o|w|?|   
+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+

 

The terminal pinged, then the screen cleared, and the image was replaced with a crude text drawing that looked like a Lion’s head...and below it, another question:

 

+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+  
|i|s| |t|h|i|s| |y|o|u|?|   
+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+

 

Pidge ran both hands through her hair, linked her fingers behind her neck as she leaned forward and exhaled anxiously. There were _so_ many unanswered questions here. So many variables that didn’t make any sense. An Altean bird, an obvious Voltron reference, _english text…_ It was that last one that was throwing her so hard. How would _anyone_ in this galaxy know english? There were practically on the opposite side of the _universe_ from Earth. Aside from the Paladins, there weren’t really any other humans out in space except --

 

Her thoughts stuttered. No, it wasn’t possible, she couldn’t _dare_ to hope… but where else would English come from out here? But it didn’t fit the pattern, neither Matt nor her father had ever had any talent for hacking. There was _no way_ they could get through her systems. And how would they know about _duflax?_ Nothing made sense! Her fingers flew over her keyboard again.

  


+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+  
|w|h|y| |s|h|o|u|l|d| |i| |t|r|u|s|t| |y|o|u|?|   
+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+

  


She gripped the edges of her portable and waited.

 

She didn’t have to wait very long.

  


+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+  
|t|h|e| |n|e|e|d|s| |o|f| |t|h|e| |m|a|n|y|   
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+   
|o|u|t|w|e|i|g|h| |t|h|e| |n|e|e|d|s|         
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+         
|o|f| |t|h|e| |f|e|w|                         
+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+

  


+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+                  
|i| |h|a|v|e| |b|e|e|n|                   
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+   
|a|n|d| |a|l|w|a|y|s| |s|h|a|l|l| |b|e|   
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+   
|y|o|u|r| |f|r|i|e|n|d|                   
+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+

 

_Matt._ Pidge’s hands were over her mouth and she didn’t remember moving them there. She could almost hear her brother’s voice reciting those words and trying not to cry -- he _always_ cried at that scene, every single time.

 

She was shaking. She gripped her hands into fists and put them in her lap. _Okay. Okay, Pidge. Let’s look at the facts._ She took in a deep breath, held it for a three-count, and let it go. “Okay.”

  


 

> { EX.begin.run_process =>
> 
> ⇒ Person(s) Unknown, displaying a significant measure of technical competence
> 
>   * Plus a willingness to infiltrate Galra systems  (rebel / rival ?)
>   * Plus knowledge of Voltron (not a stretch, whole universe knows Voltron by now)
>     * Plus _guessing her identity_ as a Paladin based on: ??? (assumption? digital signature?)
>   * Plus knowledge of ancient Altean creatures
>   * Plus knowledge of/competence in English
>   * Plus knowledge of specific cultural reference _from Earth._  
> 

> 
> ⇒ Additional Data: Voltron’s existence=common knowledge. Identity of Voltron as Altean-Origin = common knowledge. Identity of Paladins as Earth-Origin = non-secret, but uncertain how widespread this information is. Knowledge of Altean flora = ???.
> 
> ⇒ Additional Data: footage of jail-break at (unknown planet in Galra space) dated approx. 2 months ago (Earth Time), showing Matt being taken out of a cell by Persons Unknown.
> 
>  
> 
> ⇒ Hypothesis : Rebel Faction with access to Matt and/or Dad
> 
>     Evidence: jail-break footage, Earth-specific ( _Matt_ -specific) cultural reference offered as proof of trust, motivation to spy on Galra.
> 
>     Unanswered Variables: why no contact before now?, source of technical competence = ? (ex-prisoner?), source of Altean knowledge = ?  
> 
> {EX.run_conclusion =>

  


She thought it through, counting data-points on her fingers. The most likely suspect was a group of rebels -- probably the same ones who had orchestrated Matt’s jailbreak two months ago. She had gone over the footage she’d retrieved while they were getting Slav, but other than the few frames of her brother being broken out of a cell, she hadn't got much usable data from it. No identifying logos, no recognizable faces to run through the systems. It was probable that, whoever they were, Matt was still with them. But the question remained: why hadn't they contacted the Voltron Alliance before? It wasn't a secret that the Paladins were humans. It stood to reason that any rebel group that found a human would make the connection. But there had been no word -- she'd checked. Out of all the messages the castle received, not one had mentioned humans or Earth in any way.

 

It was suspicious. It didn't add up. Pidge _hated_ when things didn't add up.

 

But the possibility was also too tempting to just ignore. They might at least have _information_ on her missing family. And if they were good enough to hack the Galra, and to hack _her,_ they might be able to help her search for Shiro, too.

 

“What do you think, girl?” she asked Green aloud. “Acceptable risk?”

 

She felt her lion rooting around in her head, looking through all the evidence and angles she'd mentally examined. It felt strange sometimes, being mentally bonded with a sentient robot space ship, but this was a very efficient method of communication. Besides, considering how often Green let Pidge mess with her systems, it was only fair to return the favor.

 

Green gave her a cautiously encouraging rumble. “Right,” Pidge said, “approach, but cautiously. Don't go too far in, don't give any openings, be ready to run.” They were small and fast and smart. As long as they didn't let themselves be caught, they could handle this.

 

Pidge took a deep breath and typed into the input:

 

+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+  
|w|h|o| |a|r|e| |y|o|u|?|?|   
+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+

 

A line of coordinates came back, which Green helpfully pinpointed to a nearby asteroid belt. It looked close enough to scramble out of if they needed, and the field wasn’t so dense that it would be difficult to fly through _but_ still dense enough to aid in throwing off any pursuit. “Okay.” Pidge gripped Green’s flight control levers. “Let's go investigate.”

  
  


When they arrived, they found the asteroid they'd been pointed to was fairly large; big enough to comfortably land Green on, but _not_ big enough to naturally produce the level of gravity it was displaying. When Pidge stepped out of Green onto the dusty surface, it was barely any different than walking around the Castle-ship. Clearly there was some kind of artificial grav generation going on, and _that_ was solid evidence of this asteroid being some kind of base.

 

She didn't immediately see any kind of entrance in the tall cliff-face she had landed by. And she wasn't going to go too far from Green. So Pidge settled herself and waited.

  
  


Eventually, her patience paid off. A nearby jut of rock suddenly shimmered, revealing a hidden hatchway. It cycled open and a figure approached. They were human-proportioned, wearing a black form-fitting space suit with galra-purple status lights -- definitely not a Marmora suit, but not quite like any galra military suit she had seen before either. The helmet was opaque and there was some kind of support-brace around their right knee, which was a large argument in favor of this figure being something _other_ than galran -- _they_ were more likely to cut off the whole limb and replace it with a cybernetic than to use a brace _._   

 

Pidge kept herself crouched low, ready to run. Green’s cautious worry buzzed in the back of her mind. She didn’t move as the figure approached slowly with their hands open and weaponless.

 

They stopped a few feet away, and neither moved for a several heartbeats.

 

And then a voice, a _familiar_ voice, distorted through the figure’s suit speaker; “Oh my god…”

 

And the figure reached up, touched a button on the side of their helmet and the faceplate turned transparent and it was -- it _was!_ \--

 

“Katie?”

 

Eyes the same brown as her own but so much _older_ than she remembered, so much _duller_ than the mischievous sparkle that used to tease her on family road trips, stared at her wide with shock. “It’s really you...Katie how the fu--”

 

Pidge crashed into her brother at ramming speed, tightened her arms around him as they fell to the ground, crushed her helmet to his chest and _god_ if there were atmosphere she’d have torn it off already, she needed to _see_ him, needed to _feel_ him, _Matt! Matt! Matt!_

 

Matt’s arms were just as tight around her, pressure from his glove on the back of her helmet. “Hey there, little bird,” Matt said, his voice shaking through the speaker. “ _Katie,_ how in the -- what the hell are you doing _here_?”

 

Her face was wet. Crying in a space-suit was a bad idea but she couldn’t stop it if she wanted. “I’m saving your _stupid butt!”_ she cried, and freed an arm just to punch him in the shoulder. “They tried to tell us you were dead but I _knew_ you weren’t! I knew it!”

 

“Katie, what--”

 

“I told them I’d find out the truth! I told them I would find you! God, Matt, I’ve been looking so _long--_ ”

 

“Wait, you-- you _crossed the universe_ to--?” Matt pushed himself upward, stared at her, stared up at Green who was staring back down at them and purring so happily they could feel it through the rock. “Holy shit, Katie, you’re _Voltron?!”_  

 

“Um, long story?” Pidge smiled. But then she clutched at the front of Matt’s suit, desperate. “Matt, where’s dad?”

 

He was still staring in shock at Green. “What? Dad’s fine,” he said distractedly. “He’s not here, but he’s fine. Katie is that _alive??”_  

 

The relief collapsed her, boneless, burrowing into her brother’s chest. And she was laughing and crying and hiccupping and making a mess of the inside of her helmet but finally, _finally_ she’d found them and they were okay and alive and she _found them._

  


After a while -- minutes, at least, of just clinging to each-other on the ground -- Matt sat them up properly and gripped her shoulder. “Come inside? I promise it's safe, and I've got about a billion questions.”

 

Pidge laughed, sniffled, and let Matt help her up. “You're not the only one.” She sent out a mental nudge to Green to barrier-up and keep an eye on things, and followed her brother through the airlock. The base was small, with walls of beaten scrap metal welded together unevenly, and wires and strings of light that hung loose from the ceiling making the whole place look a little like a basement. Pidge pulled off her helmet once they were pressurized and rubbed her face clean, coughing and trying to pull herself back together.

 

“Home sweet home!” Matt announced as they entered a wider, common-room looking area with scattered crates arranged in seating circles. He pushed a button that made his helmet melt away and smiled broadly. Then he looked at her oddly. “Hey! You chopped your hair off!”

 

She snorted and nudged him with her elbow. “That's what you focus on first? Geez, Matt, priorities.” She smirked and couldn’t resist reaching out to hug her brother’s arm again. He lifted his free hand and ruffled her hair and she didn’t even mind at all.

 

Speaking of priorities, “When did you learn hacking anyway?” She asked. “Last I remember, you were too scared to even open the command prompt on your computer.”

 

Matt scratched the side of his face self-consciously. His cheeks were dusted in messy, gross stubble and were more hollow than they should have been, and she was reminded with an anxious twist of her stomach of how _long_ he'd been held prisoner. “That wasn't me. I've got a partner in espionage here.” Then he turned and called down a long hallway. “Hey, Mitzi! Come here a tic!”

 

A figure, smaller and clearly female and wearing the same black bodysuit as Matt but with a hood obscuring her face, poked her head into the room. “Come on,” Matt said, “You're _never_ gonna guess who the Lion turned out to be!”

 

The figure pulled her hood back, releasing a springy halo of navy blue curls, and Pidge got her second ( _third? fourth?_ ) shock of the day.

 

First observation: the mystery girl was purple. _Yes, Pidge, very obvious._ Second observation: the mystery girl was _pretty._ She had a wide button nose (currently scrunched in suspicion) and high cheekbones and facial features like Allura’s, right down to the _long pointed ears_ and _turquoise markings_ under her big, golden, narrowed eyes.

 

Third, world-shifting observation: mystery girl was _Altean!_

 

Pidge had so, so, _so_ many questions.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (psst it's the f/f content) 
> 
> Notes:   
> -Lance's favorite comic-book character is Dick Grayson   
> -I imagine a duflax to look like a duck/lizard hybrid covered in highly venomous spines or something because Altea apparently had no chill  
> -Matt totally ships spirk. He might be a little gay ... 
> 
> Please let me know in the comments if the formatting was confusing! Thanks for reading!


End file.
